


mirror, mirror

by immaplane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, BUT NOT THIS TIME, I always see him written as a Pureblood, M/M, Mirror of Erised, Mycroft is a muggleborn, Mycroft-centric, but still, he's still a Slytherin though, not that it really matters for the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immaplane/pseuds/immaplane
Summary: Mycroft runs into the Mirror of Erised and has to face some facts.





	mirror, mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sona007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sona007/gifts).



Mycroft quickly slipped through the half-open door, pressed himself against the wall and held his breath. Damn it; he was fairly sure he’d been spotted. He hadn’t been so close to getting caught since that one _incident_ in his second year.

The Slytherin waited with bated breath, expecting a creaky voice to call him out of his hiding place and drag him by his ears to his head of house – even his status of Head Boy wouldn’t be enough to get him out of trouble if he was caught sneaking around at three in the morning – but it seemed luck was with him.

Only when he heard Filch shuffle past him and turn the corner, muttering to himself about ‘the good old days’ and ‘thumbscrews’ did he relax and start to take in the room he was hiding in. On first glimpse he’d only seen it was an old abandoned classroom, with dusty desks and chairs stacked up against the wall, but now, now he took notice of a strange object leaning against the wall.

It was a rectangular shape, covered with a white sheet, and something about it drew Mycroft nearer. Although a loud voice in his head was telling him _not_ to carelessly approach strange magical objects, the teenager couldn’t stop himself. He watched his own arm reach out and take hold of the cloth, as if he was a spectator in his own body.

The sheet pulled away to reveal an ornate mirror.

Mycroft distantly noticed the inscription on top ‘erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’ and deciphered it’s meaning instantly. His main attention, however, was focused on what he saw reflected in the mirror.

The Slytherin _knew_ he was alone in the room, and yet he reflexively whipped his head around, searching for the other occupants of the reflection. There was no one.

Mycroft turned back to the mirror and took in the details of the scene laid out before him. His reflection looked older, and Mycroft didn’t quite understand just _how_ he knew, but he could sense reflection-Mycroft was someone of importance. He considered this for a minute and smirked. At least the mirror had picked up on one of his desires.

As he watched, a tall, curly haired teenager joined his mirror image. Mycroft blinked and felt a sudden pang in his chest. Sherlock. When Mycroft had gotten his Hogwarts letter both brothers had been ecstatic. Magic was real! Sherlock had been bouncing around for weeks, gushing about all the new possibilities this opened up. But when Sherlock turned 11 and didn’t receive a letter, he’d turned cold and started to treat his brother with contempt.

Mycroft could understand his brother was disappointed, as he had been too, but the continuous cold shoulder had hurt the teenager immensely and he longed for the times when Sherlock still treated him as a favoured big brother.

In the mirror he could see the two siblings joking and being completely at ease with each other, and he ached. He closed his eyes in defeat, looking in this mirror was not a good idea, it could only cause heartbreak.

He opened his eyes for one last look before turning away when he saw his reflection had been joined by yet another man. And he was… Oh my. Well then, Mycroft had known he was gay, but to see it with his own two eyes, well, that was something completely different. He gulped. His mirror self was locked in a passionate kiss with a tall, brown haired man while his little brother looked on and made fake gagging noises.

The stranger turned around to shoot teenager Mycroft a cheeky grin before turning back and continuing to ravish his older counterpart.

The Slytherin gasped. He knew that man. Or rather, he knew the teenager version of that man.

Mycroft blushed furiously and scowled.

He _knew_ Lestrade was trouble.

Mycroft had been aware of the other boy from the beginning, first as a year mate, than as a popular member of Hufflepuff’s quidditch team – Lestrade was the keeper (Mycroft forcibly stopped himself from making that joke). It wasn’t until they’d both become prefects that the Slytherin had started to notice the other boy as something other than ‘just another goldfish’.

Gregory Lestrade was one of the most annoyingly cheerful and genuinely friendly people Mycroft had ever met. He ~~loved~~ hated it. With his stupid charming smile and stupid eyes you could get lost in and stupid warm voice. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Mycroft had done his best to ignore any and all feelings the other boy awakened in him, but the reflection before him had gripped him by the neck and dragged him face-first into emotional enlightenment.

He breathed deeply, squared his shoulders and nodded determinedly at himself. Never let it be said that Mycroft Holmes shied away from a challenge.

Tomorrow would be the first day of his grand plan to seduce Lestrade.

The boy wouldn’t know what hit him.


End file.
